Home
by masterctarl
Summary: Johnny always knew Tricia didn't feel right. Sure, she wasn't just the Boss of the Saints, she was a damn good boss. So why did it feel like she didn't belong? Rated T for mild language


**Disclaimer: I don't own Saints Row 2 or any of the people, places, or things associated with it. The only thing I own is Tricia, who is a character I not only used as the Boss but I've used in other games, though this is the first time I've ever put her into a fanfic. The rest belongs to THQ.**

**Note: **I mostly wrote this fanfic as a segue for me between Saints Row 2 and Saints Row the Third, in which my 'canon' bosses are different. In 2 I use Tricia, aka Tiger, who is a character who's as old as dirt for me and I use as my customizable female character in most things I do (and was also highly appropriate due to the fact that she has a purple theme to her, as do the Saints). However, I wanted to use a male character in The Third for one of my characters (Tricia instead returns in my other file, so this fanfic is unrelated to that timeline) so I created Frankie instead. So this fanfic is my way of explaining why there's a male protagonist in Saints Row, a female one in Saints Row 2, and then a male one again in The Third. If any of that confused you, then please ignore my rambling and enjoy my fanfic.

**Note 2: **Though I only feature Tricia and Johnny in this fanfic, they're not shipped in any way. I heavily ship Johnny and Aisha, so I think it would be tacky to give him a new girl after his was just, you know, brutally murdered. Also, please review!

**Home**

There was something about Tricia that didn't feel right. Johnny knew he shouldn't be thinking it about the Saints' ruthless leader. She had done everything right. Avenged the members of her crew that were murdered by the rival gangs (though honestly, she _caused_ most of it). Proved to the city of Stillwater that you don't fuck with the Saints' Tiger. She stole cars, hustled, committed insurance fraud, hell, she even streaked. And in doing all this she set Stillwater back to the way it was supposed to be. Was it still a festering wasteland of sin and apathy? Sure. But it was _their_ festering wasteland.

And still, Tricia felt wrong. It wasn't just that she was different, everyone had noticed. But it was always brushed off with the ease of confidence that could only happen with the air of familiarity. But, no. Johnny had known him back when he was second in command. Somehow... Patricia wasn't him.

Wait. Him? He?

Johnny shook his head. Why did he keep getting the feeling that, no matter whom this chick that was running the Saints now was, the one who should have been wasn't just not her, but male? She knew everything she was supposed to, all the right people. Even talked like him. But... no. The more he thought about it, she definitely wasn't who everyone thought she was.

()()()()()

"Yo, Johnny."

He didn't know how he knew she'd be there. A hunch, really. She stood at the broken window of the late Vogul's office, staring at her... no, _their_ city. She refused to let the new owners fix it. It was a reminder to them of who was in charge. Of what became of those who turned on her.

She was different now that they won. The Tricia he'd help get this far was a near maniacal force of nature. Always moving, mowing down everything in their path, and most in the wake. The Tricia at the window was still and silent, almost solemn.

Johnny approached and stood at her left. No man was her right hand. If something needed to be done, she counted on no one to do it for her. She still wore the purple business suit, dark violet hair wrapped up in its tight bun, and purple tinted glasses obscuring her oddly golden eyes. There was something unnatural about them. The longer she'd been around, the more surreal they became.

"What's goin' on?" Johnny asked, looking over Saint's Row. He had to admit, it was pretty amazing from there.

"You ever get the feeling you're not where you belong?"

The question took him by surprise. "Of course not. What kind of question is that? Stillwater ain't perfect, but it's ours."

Tricia glanced at him. There was that surreal glint again.

"Yours."

"What?"

"Stillwater is yours." She looked back out into the city, taking off her sunglasses. "I've tried so hard to tell myself this place would do." Tricia opened her eyes, the sun glinting off her golden irises. "That this place is home. But it's not."

"Whoa, whoa, what are you talking about? Of course this is your home. You're the Boss of the Third Street Saints. Third Street itself is right down there, waiting for you to go down there and run it like you always have," Johnny pointed down out of the broken window.

The Boss snorted. "Always? Come on, Gat. You know as well as I do I've never stepped foot in this city before I was busted out of jail."

Her most trusted member of the Saints opened his mouth to object, but then closed it. She was right. He knew. He didn't know how he knew, figured he wasn't supposed to, but there were just so many things that didn't add up. "Who are you, then? Where's our real boss?"

"I'm just an agent of chaos and madness," Tricia said, grinning. "Someone who does what she wants, when she wants, where she wants. That's why they put me in his place. They figured, 'He's in a coma, she'll be fine in there. It'll hold her for a few years.' I don't think they counted on that day being the day he was supposed to wake up." She looked up into the sky. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I haven't had fun. Honestly, I've never had this much fun in my life. I've been running rampant in a city of sin and chaos, building a family, killing anyone I felt the need to. I made allies I know I can count on if I ever need them." She held out a hand. "I can count on you, can't I, Johnny?" At the look he gave her, she chuckled. "Don't worry about your Boss. He'll be back soon."

"Why do I have the feeling he's not going to be the same as I remember him still?"

"Oh, don't worry; he'll be the same guy. He's just been having some fun. They couldn't just make him _poof_ vanish when they replaced him with me for the last few months. So they did a little displacement, and he's been experiencing things from a different perspective. I have the feeling your next adventures with him will be very different from your old ones."

"Adventures?" Johnny snorted. "What are we, in a comic book?"

"Sorry, old habits." Tricia looked back into the sky once more, then stuck her hand out again. "Come on, Gat. I've been good to you this whole time. You can't tell me we're not cool."

Johnny thought it over less than a second before taking her hand. "Yeah, you're right. We're cool. You need my help on any fucked up adventure of yours, and I'll be there. As far as I'm concerned, there's _two_ Bosses to the Third Street Saints. Frankie'll hafta learn how to share." Yeah, that was his name. Frankie. How did he ever forget? "What'll I tell the others?"

"Psh," the violet-haired woman rolled her eyes. "You're the only one who really figured out that I wasn't Frankie in the first place, and I didn't even use his _name_. I'm sure they won't notice I'm not here. It'll be like he was the one who led you the whole time." After a moment's pause, she sighed. "Well, it's time for me to go. I'm sure I'll see you again, you psychopath."

"Whatever you say, Boss."

Tricia took her hair out of the bun, shaking out her short hair. When it was out of her face again, Johnny swore he saw purple marks there that weren't before. Before he could ask about them, though, she took a running leap out of the broken window, swan-diving into the open air below, the same path she'd thrown Vogul.

"Whoa, hey!" Johnny watched her body free-fall until it hit the side of the building Vogul had. But she didn't bounce off it; she seemed to go straight through it, without a single piece of broken glass. He almost questioned it, but then decided it wasn't the strangest thing that'd happened. "See ya later, you homicidal loony." He turned to reacquaint himself with Frankie, the real Boss of the Third Street Saints. No, the other Boss.

He had the feeling he'd indeed be hearing from Tricia again, and that she was well on her way to terrorizing some other unsuspecting city she could call her own.

Somewhere Tricia could finally call home.


End file.
